Strangers in the Night
by ForbiddenDreams13
Summary: America takes Belarus out to an abandoned dance hall for, as he puts it "an epic date". It's not her ideal version of a date, but can a Frank Sinatra song and a trip down memory lane change her mind?


**Greetings everyone! I've made a habit out of these long absences, haven't I? Sorry 'bout that. Math courses tend to take up most of my time.**

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"You know," Belarus said, slamming the car door shut, "when you said you had an epic date planned, I didn't think it would involve us driving out to a decrepit dance hall."

Grinning, America walked around the front of the car and clapped his hand on the small woman's shoulder, "Aw c'mon Bels! The Dionysus hasn't lost all of its charm!"

 _Oh I beg to differ_ , she thought as she gazed at the stone and wood corpse that was the once proud dance hall. A towering structure in its hay-day, the building now sat slumped at the back of the barren parking lot. Cracks traversed the length of the marble columns that held the roof. Rotten boards clung to the windows, their nails reaching up ready to sink their rusted teeth deep into whatever fool that was stupid enough to try and pry them off. The steps leading up to the entrance sported clumps of weeds growing in the many cracks and holes. All that was left of the entrance was a gaping black maw, as the door had been torn from the building years ago by fierce storm winds. Oh yeah, this place had some real charm left in it.

Sensing her discontent, America chuckled and went back to the trunk of the car, "Just trust me, I've had this idea in my head for weeks now and the timing's finally right." He opened the trunk and reached inside, shoving aside a tire iron and a couple sets of jumper cables. Belarus watched this with a suspicious frown. For weeks? He'd been planning a trip out to a creepy little dump for weeks? And what was he going on about, the timing being right? She sighed and looked back at the run-down building. Years ago, back in the early forties, the Dionysus had been quite the hopping little place. Always packed, hardly a night went by without some famous face waltzing through the door and up onto the stage. Over the years, she'd lost count of how many times Old Blue Eyes himself had made that stage his home. Hell, even Peggy Lee and Tony Bennet had made some appearances. Not to mention the various orchestras both professional and semi-professional.

How often had she come here? Sneaking away from her brother during meetings and taking a cab out to the dance hall. Always making sure to be back before the meeting was over.

"I used to love coming here," she said, staring through the gaping opening into the building, "it felt nice to dance with normal people. I could pretend that I wasn't a country, at least for a little while."

America nodded, still digging through the trunk, "Yeah, I know what you mean. This place always had such a soothing air." He chuckled, "either that or it was the bourbon." The American flashed her a cheesy grin over his shoulder, pulling out with a portable stereo held in one hand. Belarus rolled her eyes and the two of them strode up towards the stone flesh of the rotting god.

Yes, thanks to this very place she could don the disguise of a normal young woman. For an hour or two she could pretend that she belonged with the people mingling about the floor. Like some Communist Cinderella, she'd sneak away from Russia and with Ukraine acting as her fairy godmother, would trade her professional clothes for dazzling evening attire and attend a dance. Although her Prince Charming was the more abstract concept of escape instead of a physical person, it didn't change the fact that once her allotted time was up, she had to flee from her prince back and back to the cold reality that she was a country, and a Communist one at that.

The two of them stepped through the open doorway and into the dancehall proper. Shadows writhed on the far side of the hall opposite the two of them, while closer to the front, beams of sunlight had suck in between the cracks in the boards on the windows and were laying down upon the broken floor. The pattern in which they laid looked like someone had splattered gold paint all over the floor nearest the entrance. Belarus tried not to gag on the smell of rat droppings and mold. The wooden floorboards that had once been so pristine and polished that one could have mistaken them for a mirror were now so covered in dust and grime that at first she thought that they'd been stripped completely. Random holes dotted the floor, their edges marked by the jagged splintered teeth of the broken boards. The woman grimaced as she thought of the numerous spiders, centipedes, and other nasty things that dwelled down at the bottom of those foreboding holes. America however, did not seem fazed, and walked over to the far left, setting the stereo down against a cracked wall the color of a decaying corpse. He crouched down and turned it on, hitting a button to pop out the CD compartment. Belarus watching him with a quirked eyebrow.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Instead of answering her question, America replied, "Y'know, this is where you and I first met."

"What are you talking about? We met during one of the very first meetings after the forming of the Allies, you know that."

Seeing that the CD was indeed in the compartment, America smiled and popped it back in. He skipped ahead a couple tracks, but did not push play. Instead, he stood up and regarded the female nation before him. Try as she might, the young woman could not read her boyfriend's expression.

Shaking his head, America said, "No. That's where we met as countries, and even then I wouldn't call that meeting."

"What do you mean?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"We met each other, already having known of each other. You met me knowing I was the young capitalist superpower, and I met you knowing you were Russia's little sister. This prior knowledge did little in aiding our opinions of one another, and in reality only helped to sour said opinions. But here," he said sweeping his arms out, "here we were able to truly meet each other. In those meetings, we saw each other only in terms of politics, but here we could see each other as human beings." He stopped for a moment, chewing his bottom lip-a sign that she had come to accustom with him being deep in thought. The American cast a glance back down at the stereo, then back at the nation across from him.

"Do…do you see what I mean?" He angled his head downwards, looking at her over the rims of his glasses, hands tucked into his pockets with the toe of his left foot worrying the floor. Although she'd never admit it, she found that pose of his to be rather endearing.

Smiling, she crossed the room and stopped before him. Cupping his face in her hands, she gazed into his azure eyes for a moment. This close, she was now able to read his face. A strange mix of curiosity and almost child-like insecurity, as if he was afraid she was going to mock him. Not that she ever would. In fact, she was one of the few who didn't mock him. Oh, she'd tease him every now and then, but never outright mock him.

"I do," she murmured, tracing the lines of his face with her fingertips. America grinned and kissed her on the forehead. Sighing, she moved her hands, wrapping them around her lover's broad back. His embrace felt so warm, so comforting. Being wrapped in his strong arms while his large, powerful hands stroked her hair, there wasn't a single thing in the world Belarus found more enjoyable.

"So," she said, worming her way out of his grip, "why did you bring us here? Surely it wasn't to dwell on the past."

"Oh, I dunno," America turned back around and crouched down in front of the stereo once more, finger hovering over the play button, "it all depends."

"On what?" she asked, rolling her eyes. Sometimes America's guessing games could get just a bit annoying.

"Well," he began, voice taking on a playful edge, "do you remember that night we danced together?"

Belarus bit back a groan, "Just get to your point America."

"My point," he clicked the play button, "is this."

For a moment, nothing happened. The only sounds from the stereo were a combination of whirs and clicks as it read the CD. Then, a brief drop of silence followed by the gentle, breezing melody of violins, the downbeats punctuated by a ringing percussion. Belarus gasped. This song…could it be? America caught her reaction and couldn't help but beam. She looked up at him, eyes wide. Frank Sinatra began to sing.

 _Strangers in the night, exchanging glances,_

 _Wondering in the night, what were the chances?_

 _We'd be sharing love before the night was through…_

Still grinning, America stood and offered her his hand.

"What do ya say Belarus? Would you like to dance with me?"

Taking his hand, Belarus smiled back at him, "Oh America, of course. I'd love to."

And so, the two of them began to sway across the old, dusty floor. As they did, the memories of that night came flooding back to her. At first, she had been shocked and terrified upon seeing America. She had done everything she could to avoid his gaze, but to no avail. He'd spotted her anyway and sought her out, just as surprised by her presence as she had been his. The young woman smiled to herself as she remembered her many futile attempts to get the western nation to leave her alone. So afraid. She'd been so afraid that he was going to rat her out to her brother. But he hadn't even entertained the thought, and had told her so. Somehow America knew why she was there and he hadn't laughed, hadn't insulted her. Instead, the very moment Sinatra had decided to perform this song, America had asked her to dance. At the time, she'd been so flabbergasted, she'd accepted without thinking. What followed was the greatest night of her life.

"I see you're reminiscing too." America's voice cut through her memories like a bright light through fog.

Nodding, Belarus replied, "Yes. I had so much fun that night. Up until that point, I'd never danced with anyone here. I was more content to sit back and watch."

"You still enjoyed yourself," he remarked, maneuvering them around a large hole.

"I did. So much so that I ended up wearing a giddy smile on my face for the rest of the night." She giggled, "Brother couldn't figure out why I was so happy."

America smiled, "I'll bet it drove him up the wall."

"It did indeed."

The music swelled, filling the air around them. Belarus rested her head against America's shoulder. It truly had been a magical night, and for weeks afterward Ukraine had pestered her for details. Russia had regarded his sister with a nervous curiosity. Not that she blamed either of them, she hadn't worn such a happy look on her face in years, perhaps decades. It had also sparked a moment of crisis. That such a wonderful feeling of content was given to her not by her brother, but by America made her question if she had made some terrible mistake. He was her brother's enemy at that time. Associating with America during the Cold War was tantamount to betrayal. Yet, there had been something in the way America held her as they danced, the gentle smile on his face, and the tender look in his eyes that made her not care about what Russia might have done to her had he found out. She even began going to the Dionysus for the express reason that she might run into America. She didn't see him every time, but each time she did, a feeling of serenity had settled upon her. The two of them would exchange a few words, dance, then part. After a while, it got to the point where the dance hall didn't matter, and she soon found herself involved in short trysts with the American.

She chuckled as she recalled a particularly humorous memory in which she had had to hide in a hotel closet while America had all but shoved his brother out of the room.

America glanced down at her, "Something amusing?"

Grinning, she replied, "Do you remember the incident at the Cross Roads Hotel?"

For a moment, he was silent. Then, the memory surfaced and he laughed, "You mean the time when we met there right after a meeting, not knowing that Canada was staying in that very same hotel three rooms down from us?"

Belarus nodded, "I never knew how roomy a coat closet could be."

America pouted, "Where was I supposed to hide you? The bathroom? Under the bed?"

The Slavic woman gave her boyfriend a light punch in the shoulder. The man in question grinned in response and began to hum along with the rest of the song. Belarus closed her eyes as the music swelled, a silver bubble of sound filling every nook and cranny in the room. She emptied her mind and let the music take her, swaying her body as if she were a blade of grass caught in a gentle spring breeze.

 _Love was just a glance away,_

 _A warm embracing dance away…_

Indeed it had been. For decades she'd pursued her brother, thinking that if he would reciprocate just one of her advances then it would lead to that everlasting bliss she had sought, when in reality all it had taken for her to experience the feeling of love was a simple dance with a man she would never have expected to even approach her.

The song came to an end, leaving the two of them standing in the semi-darkness embracing one another. Belarus buried her face in America's chest while America rested his chin on the crown of her head. With the music over, the glow of nostalgia had bled from the dance hall, returning the area to its pitiful, decayed state. And yet, as she stood there, inhaling the thick stench of dust, mold, and rodent droppings, she didn't feel the slightest hint of revulsion that she had felt upon entering. America was right. This old place did still have some charm left in it. As long as the memory of that first dance with the American remained alive in her mind, the allure of the Dionysus would never fade.

"Well? What did you think?" America asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She stepped back and looked up at her lover. Smiling, she cupped his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes.

"It was wonderful. Thank you America."

He smiled and even though part of his face lay shrouded in shadow, she could see the faint, rose-colored light of a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Nodding, Belarus pulled him in for a kiss. Upon meeting his lips with hers, America wrapped his arms around her, holding tight to the woman he loved while she in turn did the same to him. They parted for air and stood there for a moment, basking in each other's presence.

"I do have a question though." Belarus said, stepping back and brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder.

"Shoot."

"What did you mean earlier, when you said something about the timing being right?"

America chucked, "Oh, yeah. That." Pushing his glasses up, he glanced off to the side. "Well, you see…" He sighed and hung his head, "You promise not to laugh?"

"Of course."

Sighing once more, America pretended to be interested in his wrist watch as he explained, "For some silly reason, when we first danced together here, I went home and marked the day in the calendar. See, I was pretty ecstatic over being able to dance with you, and for a while I've been wanting to come back here and dance to the same song that we first did so long ago. Unfortunately, Sinatra never performed that one again and by the time this place was getting close to closing, we'd already found other places to meet and…"

He trailed off. Casting a quick glance up at her, he then lowered his gaze to the floor, while running a hand through his hair, "Sorry. I know this isn't textbook romance or anything, but every time that particular date rolled around, I always got a little nostalgic for this place, and I've been wanting you to know how special that night was. Also, I've been wanting to show you how much that song has meant to me ever since I got to share it with you."

Belarus smiled, "And I assume that 'particular date' is today?"

America nodded, "I was bound and determined not to miss the opportunity this year."

She strode up to him, mindful of a patch of splinters protruding from the floor like jagged blades of grass. When she stood before him, she reached down and took his hand in her own, threading her fingers through his. Her cobalt eyes sparkled as she regarded him. With her eyes locked onto his, she brought his hand to her lips and laid a soft kiss upon the skin.

"I'm glad you didn't miss the opportunity." She murmured.

America was at a loss for words. All he could do was grin and wrap the small woman up in another tight hug. A curtain of shadow fell across the two of them, and they took it as their signal to leave. After gathering up the portable stereo and traversing the minefield of rotten floor, they strode across the deserted lot, hand in hand. While America placed the stereo back in the trunk, Belarus turned to give the dance hall one last look. Though the place still looked as pitiful and decrepit as it had when they'd first pulled up, she thought she could almost see a spark of what the building once had. A tiny ember of life that they'd uncovered while dancing that now sat quivering in the darkness, reaching out with tentative hands in an effort to feed and restore itself. Maybe they'd come back here again someday and turn that ember into a flame, or perhaps the dance hall would meet its end before then, collapsing to the ground like some great beast. Either way, she was sure that, whether here or not, the happy ghost of the Dionysus would haunt her memories as long as America was by her side.

Which, if she had to say, as not a bad turn of affairs. Not in the slightest.

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 **How was it? Drop me a line!**


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